


Act Natural

by ConstellationStation



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Byleth is confused but they've got spirit, Gen, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Shenanigans, the spirit's name is Sothis and she's also confused, totally appropriate uses for divine pulse, wow this work got away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstellationStation/pseuds/ConstellationStation
Summary: Byleth would be the first to admit that they weren’t the gold standard for what counts as a normal human being. This didn’t normally bother them, but when their students seemed perturbed, a change in behavior was in order.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Act Natural

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/patricia-von-arundel/624293736703197185) thread. Disclaimer: not my blog ;3

It started with tickles.

“Hey, uh,” Dorothea paused, struggling to phrase her thoughts. “This might be weird, but could you maybe show me some kind of weakness of yours?”

“My weakness?” Byleth echoed. A strange request, and certainly not one their mercenary instincts would let them grant. But the life of fighting tooth and nail for survival was currently superseded by a life of watching over, and in turn being watched by, growing children. As it was, Dorothea had just revealed some of her insecurities and was expecting them to share theirs in return. A piece of me for a piece of you, she might say.

None of Byleth’s pieces are very comforting to look at.

Dorothea giggled, “oh come now, Professor, everyone has weaknesses!” She tapped her colored nails against her chin. “If you haven’t discovered yours yet, it might be an unusual one. Oh, I know, you’re ticklish!”

“Ticklish?” They repeated. It seemed their weakness is contributing to conversation but that wouldn’t satisfy the mischievous songstress.

“Aha!” She declared, pouncing on Byleth.

Byleth tensed briefly, but stopped themselves from fighting back against her… assault? Dorothea’s fingers moved quickly and purposefully, a light jab here, a brush there. She was targeting areas that were unprotected, either covered by thin cloth or nothing at all, but besides that, they couldn’t tell what she’s trying to accomplish. There were major arteries at the neck and under the arms that could be potential targets, but not at the stomach.

Sothis’s voice rang in their mind. “The strikes are obviously not meant to be lethal, but they’re not random either. What’s she doing?”

Byleth was just as confused. Dorothea as well. She stopped and stepped back, brow furrowed, “um, Professor, what’s with you? You’re not reacting to anything I’m doing.”

“How am I supposed to react?”

She stared at them incredulously. “Seriously? I swear, it’s like your heart isn’t even beating.”

“It isn’t.”

“Ha, don’t be silly,” she scoffed. Then she looked at their blank expression and her eyes widened. “Huh, it really isn’t beating?”

“You shouldn’t have told her that,” Sothis rebuked, “people will freak out if they find out your heart doesn’t beat!”

Oops.

Fortunately, having some sort of undead professor is too outlandish for Dorothea to believe. “Is what I’d say if I were more gullible,” she waggled her finger at them, “you’re just fooling around, Professor. I’m not sure how you did it, but that was a good one!”

Byleth blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Thank you.”

Dorothea rolled her eyes, “at least laugh at your own jokes. You’re so deadpan all the time it’s hard to tell when you’re being serious or not. Honestly, you're worse than Edie.”

Laughter, yes, they can do that. Maybe. Their students do it all the time, how hard can it be. Byleth let air haltingly out of their mouth while making the appropriate sound, “ha ha ha!”

“That was horrible,” Sothis told them.

Dorothea didn’t hear her, but she agreed. “You might want to work on that.”

***

“What happens to a person when you tickle them?”

Manuela froze, cutting off her tirade about last night’s mishaps and setting down her wine glass. “What?”

“When you’re tickled,” Byleth reiterated, as serious as though they were discussing battlefield tactics, “how would you respond?”

“What brought this on all of a sudden?” Manuela leaned towards them, elbow resting on the table. “Why, if I hadn’t known better, I’d think this is your strange way of flirting with me.”

“It’s a form of flirting?” Byleth asked, intrigued and mildly concerned. That wouldn’t be entirely unexpected from Dorothea, and it wouldn’t even be the first advances they’d dealt with.

“You really need to set boundaries with your students,” Sothis remarked, materializing across them on the dining table. She tilted her head towards Manuela, “faculty too, mind you.”

Manuela shook her head, smile teasing. “Not exactly, but it’s a playful thing. A rather juvenile one at that. Who’s been trying to tickle our dear professor?”

“Dorothea, actually.”

Her gaze hardened with protectiveness. “You didn’t break her fingers, did you?”

“I would never!” Byleth said, a rare spike of offense going through them.

“Of course you wouldn’t, apologies,” Manuela amended. “You never know with the stoic mercenary types. Though I must say, despite the tales of your exploits as the Ashen Demon, you’re remarkably gentle with the kids.” She winked at them, “eccentricities aside.”

Eccentricities, yes, back to the topic at hand. “So, the tickling?”

She laughed, “you’re awfully hung up about this. You didn’t do anything to upset poor little Dorothea, did you?”

“Not deliberately,” they admitted. “She thinks there’s something unnatural about the way I… interact with people. If she knew some weakness of mine, she thought she’d feel more at ease around me. But then I didn’t react to her tickling at all and I fear she’s all the more unsettled about me. If I knew how a normal person reacts, perhaps I can mimic it the next time she tries.”

Manuela considered this, swishing the wine around in her glass and picking at the olive in it. “Most people would be, well, tickled. They’d laugh or something. It’s not unnatural to not be tickled, mind you. Some people aren’t as sensitive and that’s perfectly normal.”

“Normal,” Byleth mused. It’s not a word that’s commonly used to describe them. They’ve always been strange ever since they were a child. It never bothered them growing up when strangers would shy away or whisper behind their back, yet the thought of their students being disconcerted by them hurt in a way they can’t explain. Clearly, something must be done.

“What counts as normal anyway?” Sothis asked, “even among those at the monastery, behaviors vary greatly.”

They’ll have to observe them and find out, they thought, but said nothing out loud as Manuela was still there and being seen talking to themselves wouldn’t help their case in normalcy.

“Whoops,” Manuela grumbled as the olive fell out of her glass, bounced off the table and onto the floor. She’s quick to swipe it back though and plopped it back in her wine.

Byleth stared.

“Five second rule,” she said matter of factly.

Byleth stared longer.

“Rule for what?” Sothis frowned, “and why five? Such an arbitrary number!”

Byleth relayed the questions as they were similarly confused.

“As long as it hasn’t been on the floor for five seconds,” she explained in the same tone she uses when arguing with Hanneman, “the germs haven’t gotten to it yet and it’s safe to eat. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

“How curious,” Sothis said.

Byleth nodded. Strange they hadn’t heard this advice before, it would’ve certainly been useful during life on the road when supplies were scarce. Though some information one can only get from professionals.

***

It was fairly rare for Jeralt to be at the monastery for an extended period of time. He managed to squeeze in time during the weekends between missions so his breaks would coincide with Byleth’s, a fact they’re grateful for, though they struggled to show it.

For the day, Byleth opted to celebrate with a new confection from the kitchens. The treat itself wasn’t new- it was peach sorbet- but instead of the usual bowl or cup, it was served in a sheet of wafer that had been rolled to a cone. It was novel and crunchy and Byleth loved it.

They strolled towards the pond, sorbet in one hand and fishing tackle in the other. Jeralt told them- or more accurately, complained to them about his latest mission while Byleth listened attentively and lapped at their sorbet. In turn, they would tell him about their own missions and how their students were doing.

“So I found this damp handkerchief on the floor, and it had a funny smell that made me nauseous when I sniffed it,” they were saying, “so I thought I’d find the owner so I could return it.”

Jeralt looked concerned, but they continued regardless.

“It turned out to be Hubert’s. It was a good thing I didn’t inhale much of it or it would’ve knocked me out. That’s what he said, anyway, though he didn’t sound too relieved that that wasn’t the case.” Hubert was a strange man like that.

“Kid, aren’t you worried about those kinds of things?” Jeralt asked warily.

“Of course I am.” Their father tended to fret, but Byleth wanted to let him know that they could be a dependable adult and professor. “I made him promise to take better care of his belongings. If another student or a stray animal got to that before me, something bad could’ve happened.”

“I think you should back up a bit and wonder what one of your students is doing with poison in the first place.”

They pondered on this. “For his enemies, I presume.”

Jeralt raised an eyebrow, prompting them to contemplate it further.

“Aside from misplacing it, I don’t see the problem. Claude has poison too, though he keeps it in a bottle. I’ll suggest that to Hubert next time.”

Jeralt sighed heavily. Byleth frowned, they were missing something.

“Had this been any place else,” Sothis interjected, “the issue would be in letting those delinquents have poisons. As it is, it’s not so different from the knives and axes everyone carries around with no judgement.”

“Exactly,” Byleth agreed, aloud, unfortunately.

“What?” Jeralt looked at them oddly.

“Nothing,” Byleth tried to wave him off, accidentally causing their sorbet to tip from the cone and splatter on the floor.

“Five second rule!” Sothis yelled.

Byleth dropped the fishing tackle and swiftly scoops the sorbet back into the cone with their fingers. 

“Kid, what’re you doing? Don’t eat that!”

Scraping off the bits of dirt, they had a presentable, if not lumpy, serving of peach sorbet.

“I counted four seconds,” Sothis said, pleased. “Well done.”

Jeralt slapped it out of their hand.

Sothis materialized, pouting over the soiled treat. “Do the seconds stack or do we start over? You should ask Manuela.”

“That would’ve been alright to eat,” Byleth told their father, eager to impart knowledge and berate him over the lost dessert. “Manuela said if you get it from the floor within five seconds, the germs wouldn’t have gotten to it yet.”

“What are you, five? Don’t listen to her!”

“But she’s a doctor.”

“She’s a disaster, that’s what she is,” Jeralt scowled. He then offered them his own sorbet, “here, you can have mine.”

Sothis spoke gently, “do you want me to save your sorbet?”

“Yes, please.”

A flash of the divine pulse later, and both father and child had their frozen treats and were peacefully making their way to the fishing pond.

***

Byleth strolled down the path along the dormitories and stopped as they heard a rhythmic pounding. Investigating, the sound came from Bernadetta’s room, though there were many things that struck them as out of the ordinary: one, the door was open, two, Bernadetta wasn’t anywhere nearby, and three, the girl at the door was Ingrid.

The kingdom noble was hammering away at the hinges of the door, absorbed in her task.

Byleth looked around again, confirming Bernadetta’s absence, before walking up. “Ingrid? What are you doing?”

“Oh, Professor!” she stood up, dusting herself primly and smoothing down her uniform. “Did you need me for something?”

“I’m just curious as to what you’re doing. And where is Bernadetta?”

“Bernadetta would either be at the dining hall or library, I imagine. I just told her it would be best if she wasn’t here while I fixed her door.”

“How kind of you.” Byleth inspected the door for signs of damage. There weren’t any, indicating that either the damage was minor or Ingrid had replaced the door entirely. “But what happened to her door?” Bernadetta was extremely fussy about her personal space, she must’ve been devastated when her door broke.

“Oh, um,” Ingrid shifted bashfully from foot to foot. “I was the one who broke her door. That’s why I’m fixing it.”

That’s strange. Ingrid was a model student, a little naggy, a little pushy, but Byleth would’ve never thought excessively so. “Why did you break her door?”

“She kept skipping out on training and wouldn’t come out of her room, so I thought a little tough love was in order.” She bowed her head. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“Of course not,” comes out of their mouth without them really thinking about it.

“That would explain why Bernadetta was exceptionally jumpy earlier,” Sothis noted. “I thought she was just mad at Caspar from that time we saw him carrying her around before.”

But this is Ingrid, Byleth thought, polite and proper Ingrid! If she used force, it was probably justified. Though for Bernadetta’s sake, they should encourage alternatives.

“You’re not getting any trouble for this,” They told her, “but I advise against doing anything similar in the future. Bernadetta’s space is very important to her and she wouldn’t be looking forward to training if we flushed her out of her room like a jackrabbit all the time.”

“Yes, thank you, Professor,” Ingrid bowed again, “I’ll remember that.”

Bidding her farewell and leaving her to finish repairing the door, Byleth returned to their rounds around the monastery.

“Sothis,” they asked, deep in thought, “is breaking down doors a normal solution?” They've done it plenty of times in the past, but they'd assumed it came with the rough territory of being a sellsword. To think a proper noble would employ similar tactics in a prestigious academy, and so casually too.

The specter in their mind hummed. “Bernadetta’s punctuality isn’t so big of a problem that it required drastic measures, so it’s not like Ingrid acted out of desperation.”

“Yet she’d berate Claude for slouching about, or Raphael for being a messy eater,” Byleth remarked. “So… it’s okay to break down doors?” Except Bernadetta’s of course. She required gentle care.

“I suppose it is,” Sothis admitted.

***

Ferdinand was the first to the classroom, as usual. A fact that he loudly and proudly announced to Edelgard as she entered with Hubert ten minutes later. 

Byleth reclined behind their desk, going over the lesson plan while waiting for their students to file in. There was still a fair amount of time before classes would officially start. The Black Eagles classroom slowly filled in until only one seat remained vacant shortly before the bell.

“It seems Linhardt slept in again today,” Hubert said.

Edelgard rose from her seat, “I apologise for his tardiness, my teacher. I’ll fetch him at once.”

“No, I shall fetch him,” Ferdinand said, standing taller, “and I shall do it faster as well.”

“Yes,” Hubert sneered at him, “I’m sure you’re lighter on your feet, considering all your hot air.”

“Why thank yo- beg pardon!?” Ferdinand whirled to face him, “funny you can even see my feet since you spend your days kissing Edelgard’s!”

“Oh you’re not that hard to miss,” he taunted, “after all, your place is just beneath her.”

They continued to bicker while Edelgard, for her part, was beyond exasperated as she’s trapped between them.

“Settle down,” Byleth commanded, and they fell silent. “I will get Linhardt, wait here.”

Byleth promptly sprinted out of the classroom, slowing down to a jog as they reached the dormitories. They knocked on Linhardt’s door, “are you in there? Class is about to start.”

A delayed response. They had to press their ear against the door to hear his muffled voice. “I’m here.”

“Are you getting ready?”

“In a moment.”

“Quite the sluggard you’ve got there,” came Sothis’s voice as she appeared in front of them. 

They leaned against the door, “you know how he is.”

“The flow of time will not stall for him. Your other students are waiting.”

“Indeed they are.” Byleth turned around. “I’m breaking in.”

“Are you sure?”

“He isn’t fearful like Bernadetta, I think he’ll manage. Besides, if this keeps him on his toes, the better.”

Sothis nodded. It was a sound decision.

“Linhardt,” Byleth called again, “are you almost ready?”

A groan. “Not quite.”

“Kindly steer clear of the door.”

“... What?”

Byleth gave a sharp kick just below the knob and with a crack, the door flew open and slammed inward. Linhardt sat up in his bed, blinking up at them in his rumpled uniform.

“Oh good, you’re already dressed.” 

“I slept in these.”

“It pays to be prepared,” Byleth nodded approvingly. They spotted the timepiece on the desk, only three minutes remaining and Linhardt had yet to get moving. Another idea struck them. “Come on, we need to go.”

They slung him effortlessly over their shoulder, “where’s your school bag?”

“Over there,” he said, pointing to a satchel at the foot of the bed, “oh, and can you get my journal on the desk?”

Gathering his things, they ran back to the classroom. 

“You know,” Linhardt commented, limp in their carry, “this isn’t such a bad arrangement. Will you be doing this often?”

“I’d hope not.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Maybe you should ask Caspar,” they suggested, “I got the idea from him.”

“He told you to do this?” he asked, surprised. “He told me at the start of the school year he wouldn’t be doing things like this for me again.”

“No, I saw him carrying Bernadetta around before so I thought I’d try that.” Byleth explained, “and I got the idea of breaking open your door from Ingrid. A tactic she also used on Bernadetta.”

“How irresponsibly impressionable of you, Professor.”

“No, I’ll be responsible about this. I’ll fix your door for you.” They said with determination.

“Halt!” Came a stern voice, “put the student down, Professor, what are you _doing?!_ ”

“Seteth,” they turned and bowed respectfully, “I was just bringing Linhardt over to class. No student shall be left behind.”

Linhardt nodded placidly. “And we’re almost late, so we’d appreciate it if you let us be on our way.”

Seteth looked at a loss for words, gaping at them incredulously. 

A familiar five note chime echoed throughout the Officer’s Academy. 

“Oops, we’re late. Apologies, Seteth, but we’ll be going now.” With that, they dashed to the Black Eagles classroom.

“Byleth Eisner!”

***

"So as I helped the little girl fetch water, I told her, _'a day spent at the well is a day well spent!'_ " Alois finished his story with a loud guffaw.

"Ha ha ha!" Byleth had been practicing their laugh and joined in. It's a good laugh, they thought, even Dorothea would be impressed.

Alois gave them a hearty clap on the back. "It's nice to see someone appreciate my humor. You're really coming around, kiddo. Oh, I bet your students would love it if you shared some of my jokes with them!"

"That's not a bad idea." Though Byleth's face remained impassive, inside, they were practically quivering with delight. If Alois thought they were normal, it's only a matter of time before they convince the rest of the academy. These jokes would prove a useful tool in getting the students to relax around them.

Alois dug around in his coat pockets for a worn notebook, "here, I wrote a lot of good material, use them wisely."

They took it reverently, "I will."

***

Byleth leaned against the stone rim of a well, resting in its shade. They watched as Sylvain got soundly rejected by yet another girl across the street. He heaved a dramatic sigh before sauntering over to where they were, likely aware they were there from the start.

"Still interested in my love affairs, Professor?" he drawled, "I suppose it's quality entertainment compared to your usual job."

"We've talked about this," they said sternly. "Just because they're not students who can complain to me about your advances doesn't mean I'm not concerned."

"Hardly an advance if they don't give me a chance to begin with," he gave an unaffected shrug, "in that case, we both just wasted our time here."

Byleth was trained to identify and snatch every opportunity they come across and the set up was too perfect to pass. "On the contrary, time would be impossible to waste. After all, a day spent here," they said with a sweeping gesture to the well behind them, emphasis was key, "is a day _well_ spent." Then, because Dorothea told them it was important, they laughed at their own joke.

Sylvain looked at them oddly before laughing too. Success! But upon closer observation, the laugh was tight and forced, so different from the ones he shares with his friends.

"I did something wrong," they said. "You don't think it's funny."

Sothis piped up, "maybe it was the delivery? Do you want to try again?"

"Not really," he smiled wryly. "Jokes like that just aren't meant to be funny. Did Alois put you up to that?"

"Yes, but I thought it was a good idea." Alois was what they'd call a people person. He had a charm to him that made the students feel safe and the faculty at ease despite his gruff exterior. Byleth wanted to mimic that.

"It might work for him, but not for you. You're too different."

"Ah," they said quietly. There was the problem. They weren't normal.

Sylvain turned so that he's facing the well, peering into its depths. "Alois is loud and cheerful, we already know to expect these stuff from him. You, on the other hand, are calm and stoic. That's not bad, it's kind of hot actually," he said, flashing them a wink before returning his gaze to the bottom of the well, "but like I said, it's different. Find something that works for you."

"I see." Despite his lackadaisical demeanor and philandering tendencies, Byleth knew for a fact that Sylvain was very clever and perceptive. His insights would be best taken in consideration. “So if Alois told the joke, it would be funnier?”

“If he told me that, I wouldn’t laugh at all.” Sylvain let out a sardonic bark, “I don’t like wells.”

“Do they make you… un _well?_ ”

“You get points for persistence, I’ll give you that. But, yeah, I suppose you could say that.” He picked up a pebble and threw it down the well. It bounced down the walls before disappearing in the water with the smallest of splashes. “My brother pushed me down one of these once. I wouldn’t consider that day well spent.”

“I’m sorry,” Byleth placed a hand on his shoulder. There they go, making their students feel bad again.

“Eh, it’s not your fault.” He gave them a sly glance, “but if you want to make up for it, you can always buy me lunch.”

“Very well,” they said, taking out some gold pieces. They’d make it up for him but boundaries were still boundaries. “You can enjoy your meal by yourself.”

He shrugged good naturedly, pushing their coins back to them. “It was worth a shot, but I don’t want your money.”

Byleth slipped the coins into his pocket anyway. Thief classes with Shamir had gone very well. “Go ask your friends out to eat. They’re less likely to turn you down than some random village girl.”

He chuckled. “Felix just might surprise you.”

***

Weeks passed and Byleth continued to observe their students and fellow faculty for any habits they can adapt. They took Sylvain's advice into consideration, but only to an extent. It didn't matter what worked for themselves, but what worked for the students. To figure that out required some experimentation.

The puns were met with mixed reactions. Dimitri was more bemused than anything, but he was more than happy to humor them. He'd listen to their jokes and offer the occasional comment, valuing it as much as any other conversation. Edelgard seemed to like it, but she pretended not to. Her eyes lit up and the corners of her mouth would twitch as if only barely containing her smile, but she'll only give the joke the barest of acknowledgements before brushing it aside. Petra was the one who loved it the most and she did so openly, though it would take some explaining for her to understand. Byleth didn't mind, wordplay was new to them as well and discussing it with her made their appreciation for the art deepen. 

All the others hated the puns at worst and tolerated them at best. Even their father looked disappointed.

Nonetheless, there were more behaviors to try and negative results were still results. Scientific method and all that. Hanneman should be proud.

Caspar, Raphael, and even Flayn got more motivated to train when Byleth yelled more. Lorenz seemed pleased whenever they exhausted their vocabulary while talking. Felix and Leonie performed best when they challenged them directly. A good number of their students were ecstatic when they started bringing treats as incentive for class participation, but none more so than Lysithea. Ashe took to new maneuvers faster when accompanied by dramatic narration. That last one backfired slightly when he recognized the passage Byleth was taking inspiration from and, after Ingrid heard it too, training spiraled out of control and turned into historical roleplay. Byleth didn’t have the heart to stop them.

The yelling, they had no problem with. A good battlecry put more force behind their blows and even quiet Byleth knew to let loose on the fields of battle and training. They’d never had to compete with anyone but themselves before, but it was easy enough to accommodate their students nipping at their heels. The area Byleth needed to work on was their speech, and that brought them to the reading corner of the knight’s hall. An anthology of heroic tales from the empire in one hand, and a thesaurus in the other.

“Adaptability is key,” Byleth said, voice booming, “be like the water that can flow freely into any space, yet can also be as hard and unyielding as ice. Just as your footwork must be light and quick, you must know when to stand your ground and yield nothing to the enemy.”

“You used ‘yield’ already,” Sothis pointed out.

They winced, flipping open the thesaurus and turning the phrase around in their head. “You must know when to stand your ground and give the enemy no quarter.”

They looked to Sothis for approval and she nodded in satisfaction. They wrote the lines on a piece of parchment and tucked it along with their lecture notes.

Afterward, they moved over to the sanded training ground. Words could only do so much without the accompaniment of steel. Byleth draws their sword and starts from the top. “A true knight is the epitome of grace and power,” they spin their blade with a flourish, “a paragon of justice and virtue,” they toss the sword in the air and catch it again deftly, “the perfect union of iron fist and golden heart- ”

“Kid, are you dancing?”

Byleth stopped in their motions and turned to their father. “That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Plenty of their students adored dancing and might be more motivated if they incorporated it.

Jeralt had a different opinion. “No, no,” he rubbed his face with his hand, “what’s gotten into you lately? You’ve been acting weird.”

“That’s impossible,” they protested. Weird had been exactly what they were trying to avoid. “I’ve adjusted my behavior in accordance to the students and staff. By definition, I’m normal.”

He gave them a strange look. They’d done something wrong again. Byleth itched to get the thesaurus to check if they got the definition of normal right.

“Is that what all this is about?” Jeralt’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “You’re trying to fit in?”

“I suppose it is.”

“C’mon, kid,” he trudged over to the sitting area and patted the space next to him on the couch. Byleth took a seat. Sothis sat across them in the air, remaining silent.

“Am I doing something wrong?” they asked.

“No, it’s not your fault you hadn’t noticed,” he started, which didn’t sit well for Byleth as that meant they did do something wrong, even inadvertently. But Jeralt continued, “but not a single person in this damned monastery is normal.”

They blinked. “How do you mean?”

“They’re crazy, all of them,” he said, “from Rhea at the top to all your brats at the bottom. None of them are normal. That’s why it’s okay for you to be different from them, and you definitely don’t have to bend over backwards just to please them.”

“So I’ve been normal from the start?”

Their father sighed, running a hand through his hair. “To be honest, kid, I don’t think the meaning of that word exists. Don’t dwell on it, you’re fine just as you are. You don’t need to change.”

Byleth considered this. “Thank you for telling me this, and while I appreciate it, I don’t think I’m going to stop… whatever it is I’m doing right now. I might not need to change, but I want to make things a little easier on my students.”

Surprisingly, he laughed. “Kid, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Those brats adore you, I can tell from a glance.”

Warmth spreads from their chest, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. “I adore them too, I think. That’s why I want to do this for them.”

“Then in that case, I can’t stop you.” Jeralt gave their shoulder a firm squeeze, “just don’t push yourself too hard, alright?”

“I won’t.”

***

Prose was one thing, but poetry was another beast entirely. Byleth recalled what their father told them about not pushing themselves too hard and wondered if they’d finally bitten off more than they could chew.

The scratch of quill against parchment filled the library as they crossed out another line. 

A great number of people loved to sing. Manuela and Dorothea could fill any room they walked into with the purest of melodies, either alone or in a duet. Lady Rhea could be frequently heard singing to herself as she wandered around the monastery. Ferdinand and Lorenz were more poetry than song, but they liked to spout lines with finesse and grandeur all the same. But who really inspired Byleth to do what they were doing was Annette, whom they overheard singing about her chores as she did them.

The funny thing was, the song/poem Byleth was trying to compose wasn’t even intended for them. It was for Petra. The girl was skillful and clever, but she struggled with the abstractions of the physical sciences. Since she enjoyed wordplay so much, they’d thought that putting it into song would help her recall it more.

Byleth wasn't a very good singer, but they liked the rhythm of limericks so they thought they'd try that. They looked over what they'd written so far:

Inertia says it's hard to stop or get moving  
Acceleration tells us how we're cruising  
Interaction would say  
If you move this or that way  
The force is equal but opposing

"Opposing," Sothis read, nose scrunched, "it doesn't quite match with the first two."

"No it doesn't," Byleth agreed, scratching out the last line.

They tried to come up with other lines, even reworking the first parts of the limerick, but nothing they wrote was to satisfaction.

Sothis crossed her arms, grumbling. "This is a mess, you can't let your students hear this!"

"Perhaps the structure of the limerick is too limiting. Let's make it a song instead," Byleth offered.

"You, singing? The little ones definitely shouldn't hear that."

Byleth pouted at her. "I just need the lyrics and a tune. Dorothea can take it from there. Or Ferdinand."

So they continued to play around with the words and try different tunes. A loud thump on the table startled them out of their thoughts.

"Teach!" Claude greeted, grinning at them as he leaned on the stack of books he set down. "Was that you singing I hear?"

"Uh," Byleth gaped, "no?"

"Quick," Sothis said urgently, "what would Annette do?"

Byleth screamed.

***

The school year continued and so did Byleth’s observations. They had a pretty good idea on what the fabled “normal” looked like, and Dimitri was currently not reaching that standard.

“Perhaps His Highness would listen if you were the one who tells him to rest,” Dedue pleaded with them. 

“I will tell him,” Byleth promised.

And so they told him.

Dimitri looked terrible, dark circles ringed his eyes and his movements were twitchy and erratic with sleep deprivation. “It’s no use, Professor,” he said in between ragged breaths as he reduced a training dummy to its basic parts, “even if I lie down, sleep will elude me. At least this way,” he snarled, driving his lance through the straw and into the ground, breaking it in two, “I’m being productive with my time.”

“You should still try to rest,” Byleth repeated.

“I said I can’t, Professor!” He snapped, then recoiled immediately. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to lose my temper.” With a stiff bow of apology, he stalked off to get more training equipment.

“He’s been like this for days,” Dedue reported morosely. “No one could get him to stop, not Mercedes, not Professor Hanneman. I had hoped you would be able to help him.”

“And I haven’t stopped trying yet,” Byleth assured him. But how best to convince someone to take a break?

Sothis responded as if reading their mind, “Look, the expert approaches.”

They turned to see Hilda sauntering towards them. “Professor, Dedue! I can’t help but overhear, and also,” she gestured to the mess of splinters and straw at their feet, “this is kind of hard to miss.”

“Do you know how to make Dimitri rest?” Byleth tilted their head at her.

“Have you seen him?” her eyes widened in exaggeration, “there’s no _making_ him do anything.”

“What do you propose?”

“And here I thought you were a great professor!” She giggled. “You lead by example of course.”

Byleth frowned, “so… if I take a break, he’ll follow?” While they tended to stay late hours at work, they weren’t one to work themselves to the bone to begin with. Weren’t they already setting an example?

“That’s the gist of it, yes, but we’ve gotta sell it extra hard!”

“We take an extra hard break?”

“You got it!”

“Not that I wish to doubt you, Hilda,” Dedue spoke, “but how will this help?”

“Drowsiness is contagious, silly. Right, Professor?” She turned to them, “that’s why you yawn when other people do.”

“We do?” Byleth asked. 

“Sure we do! Like this,” she stretched her arms above her head and gave a loud, protracted yawn.

Byleth glanced at Dedue to check if he caught the supposed contagion, but he seemed unaffected. 

Hilda was indifferent to the shaky foundations of her claim. “You try it, Professor.”

“Very well.” Byleth stretched, imitating what she did earlier, opening their jaws wide.

“An excellent showing, Professor,” Hilda praised, yawning again and covering her mouth with her hand. “You’ll be slacking like a champ in no time. Dimitri doesn’t stand a chance.”

Dedue looked to Byleth. “Are you sure about this, Professor?”

“It’s worth a shot. Hilda, how do we do this?”

She assessed their surroundings. “We need to find a good spot to nap where Dimitri can see us. Then, he’ll realize how sleepy he is and he’ll have to join.”

Had it been a weekday, Byleth would’ve accused her of truancy. However, it was Sunday and she had every right to spend it anyway she wished. They should’ve been impressed to see her at the training grounds at all. “Alright then. Dedue, will you be napping with us?”

He eyed the two of them uncomfortably. “I don’t think I can.”

“That’s okay. The two of us will nap while you make sure Dimitri gets his attention on us.”

He bowed, “as you wish, Professor.”

Hilda cheered before skipping over to a sunny spot at the corner of the training ground and curling up with her bag as a pillow. Byleth followed her, settling down a little ways off and draping their overcoat on the floor. 

They spotted Dedue speaking quietly with Dimitri on the side. He was fulfilling his side of the plan, and Byleth and Hilda had to do theirs.

They just had to fall asleep.

***

Agonizing pain seized their chest. Byleth bolted upright and their forehead collided with something.

“Agh!”

“Professor!”

They blinked, trying to get their bearings. Dimitri, Dedue, and Hilda were crowding around them, their panicked voices overlapping with each other.

“- Goddess, Professor, are you alright- ”

“- you were so still, we feared the worst- ”

“- we got so scared when we checked your pulse, and y-you- ” 

“Settle down,” Byleth wheezed, their chest throbbed like sharp claws were digging into their lungs with every breath. “What happened?”

“You died in your sleep so Dimitri gave you CPR!” Hilda stammered.

That explained some things. They prodded tenderly at their chest, “I think you broke a few ribs.”

Dimitri bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the ground. “I am so sorry, Professor, but we were desperate not to lose you.”

“I’ll go get a healer!” Dedue stood up and ran for the doors.

“This is quite a mess to wake up to,” came Sothis’s exasperated voice, “let’s make it so this didn’t happen, shall we?”

“Please.”

A beat.

“Awaken, now!” she hissed.

A hand touched their wrist and Byleth immediately drew it to their chest. They opened their eyes and found Dimitri, Dedue, and Hilda kneeling around them.

“Apologies, Professor,” Dimitri withdrew his hand, flustered. “You were lying so still we got a little worried. We were only checking on you.”

Hilda nodded, brow furrowed. “You sleep like a log, Professor. A dead log.”

“It must’ve been because I was sleeping on the floor,” Byleth stretched, waving off their concern. “You know what? Let’s all go to our own rooms so we can sleep like normal people.”

“Good call, Professor!” Hilda exclaimed, “let’s get out of here.”

“Uh, wait a moment,” Dimitri tried to protest, but he was so flabbergasted that Byleth and his classmates were able to herd him back to the dormitories.

***

Byleth’s foray into the literary arts might not have been so successful, but hopefully the visual arts would be kinder to them.

There were many talented artists among their students. Mercedes loved to sew and embroider, Hilda loved to make accessories, and Bernadetta excelled at pretty much every craft she could get her hands on. However, drawing and painting seemed to bring a dark cloud over their little creators.

Ignatz would sneak away everytime he wanted to paint, and should anyone ever catch him in the act, he’d apologize and belittle himself. Edelgard would sometimes sketch during her free time or between classes, but any move Byleth made to encourage or indulge her would cause her to bolt away with a hurried excuse. The last time Byleth had asked Bernadetta about how her paintings were going, she ran off screaming and crying.

Since approaching them with gentle encouragement didn’t work, Byleth would take a page from Hilda’s book and lead by example. 

That meant learning how to draw.

“That doesn’t look like a horse,” Sothis criticized, “the neck’s too long.”

“He’s stretching,” said Byleth defensively. 

“His feet are lumpy.”

“Those are hooves, Sothis. Have you ever seen a horse?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Groaning in frustration, Byleth crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage bin.

Sothis hovered over the half-full bin, tutting, “you’re wasting a lot of paper.”

“Then in that case,” Byleth triggered the divine pulse and wound back time to just before they started drawing. A stack of untouched paper waited on the desk as well as a fresh charcoal pencil, the garbage bin was empty once more.

“I grant you this godly power and you use it to draw more lumpy horses?” she scoffed.

“I have a fair amount of pulses left,” they put charcoal to paper, “by the time I run out, the horses will be markedly less lumpy, I assure you.”

***

The next day found Byleth sitting on a rock by the woods, attempting to paint. It was a grave mistake. They’d never practiced with watercolor before and they’d been wrong to assume they could apply whatever meager skills they picked up on charcoal to paint. 

“Professor?”

“Oh, Ignatz!” They’d been expecting to come across him. He had a knack for finding beautiful sceneries in nature to paint so they’d gone out looking for exactly that. Like they expected, Ignatz had a bundle of papers and a kit, likely filled with art supplies, at his side.

He approached them nervously. “What brings you here?”

“I thought those mountains over there looked breathtaking in the morning while they’re still foggy. Look,” Byleth forced as much enthusiasm they could muster into their inflection as they showed him their pathetic excuse of a painting. The paper was soggy nearly to the point of tearing, the colors mixed together in the most unappealing way, and the charcoal that was meant to be the outline was smudged all over the place.

“You were painting?” he asked, surprised, looking over their work. 

They nodded, “of course. Because it is a nice thing and everyone who likes to do it can and should do it. It’s a hobby like that.”

Ignatz shifted his gaze from the painting, to them, then back to the painting. Then he suddenly laughed. “You didn’t have to go through all that trouble just for me.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Byleth assured him. “Besides, you did encourage me to get a hobby.”

He backtracked, “oh, I didn’t mean that as criticism! I wasn’t trying to pressure you to- ”

“Ignatz,” they said, gentle but stern, “I took this up of my own volition. Like I said, it’s no trouble at all. Though I must admit, I was hoping this would make someone in particular feel a little better about themselves and who they want to be in the future.” They gingerly held up the painting. “I’d give this to you if it wouldn’t just rip and get all your things wet.”

He fell quiet. Then he wiped his sleeve across his face, voice shaking, “th-thank you so much, Professor.”

They waited patiently for him to compose himself. Once he had, he was smiling. “You know, if you’d like, I could teach you to paint. I’m just self-taught, but I could show you how I do things.”

“Take him up on his offer,” Sothis commented snidely, “you need it.”

They ignored her. “I appreciate it but perhaps another time. I have a couple of other artists I’d like to give encouragement to.”

“I understand,” Ignatz nodded, “you can leave your painting with me to dry, Professor. I think I’d like to keep it.”

***

Byleth is back on their desk, working fervently with pen and parchment. They weren’t drawing this time, however, they were grading papers. Sothis floated above the desk, giving unsolicited remarks on their students' works.

“Wait a moment,” she gasped, “something’s behind that paper!”

“Oh?” Byleth flipped it around and found a portrait of their own likeness smiling up at them. The words “Thank you, Professor” written on top. 

It was Ignatz’s paper. They would be almost sad to return the paper, it was a beautiful sketch. Is that really what their smile looked like? Byleth looked at the mirror and tried to compare.

“This is far prettier than that dumb painting you let him have,” Sothis told them, “you should bump his grades up in return.”

“That wouldn’t be fair to him or his classmates,” Byleth said. But they did want to acknowledge the portrait. They drew a happy face next to the thank you message.

Then, because it felt right, they went to the next paper, Marianne’s, and also drew a happy face along with the message “You’re doing great, the Goddess is proud of you.” They did the same for all the other papers, personalizing the comments for every student. Felix, Lysithea, and Hubert’s did not have happy faces as Byleth didn’t want to get stabbed.

Sothis looks over each message. “Not very standard issue of you. Do you think Seteth would allow all this?”

“What’s he going to do, confiscate their essays?” Byleth shrugged, “though I suppose I shouldn’t make a habit of using these as a medium of communication.”

“Maybe you’d like to use some of these?” she gestured to the pile of sketches that Byleth made to practice.

They picked up the last sketch, arguably their best one. “For this, I have another idea.”

***

Byleth knocked on the door to the captain’s quarters. “Father?”

His gruff response came muffled through the door. “Come in.”

Jeralt was taking a swig from his flask as they entered. His latest mission hadn’t gone very smoothly, they guessed. He glanced up at them, “you need something, kid?”

“I made this,” they handed him the paper.

He looked at the paper, his eyes widening almost comically, then he looked back at Byleth. “You drew this?”

“Yes, and it’s yours now.”

Though it’s their best, that didn’t mean it was good. The sketch was rather crude and they wouldn’t blame him for not recognizing the people it was meant to depict. Hopefully the messy hair and baggy overcoat, and scruffy beard and fur lined cloak were distinct enough. Both figures were drawn with a deadpan expression and they’d even added his horse in the background. The words “Thanks, Dad” was written at the top with a heart scrawled next to it.

He stared at the paper for a long moment, then he suddenly pulled Byleth into a hug and tousled their hair. They let out an “oof” of surprise at the unexpected contact but let themselves be held without complaint.

“Sorry about that, kid,” Jeralt chuckled, voice unusually gravelly and his shoulders shook. “You never did these kinds of things before, so I got a bit caught off guard.”

“Eh,” Byleth pulled slightly out of his embrace to offer him a smile. “I get it from my students.”

He nodded, hugging them to his side with one hand and holding up the sketch in the other. “Guess your brats aren’t so bad afterall.”


End file.
